


just a little dance

by suspendrs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, More Fluff, Songwriting, nothing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspendrs/pseuds/suspendrs
Summary: “Keep your head up, love,” he says, pulling away and grabbing Harry’s hands. “Dance with me.”“I don’t want to dance,” Harry pouts, but he lets Louis pull him into the center of the dark kitchen, anyway.“Just a little dance,” Louis says, tugging Harry’s hands until he’s flush against his front.Or, a tiny drabble based on the cutest lyric from perfect now
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 333





	just a little dance

**Author's Note:**

> honestly might wake up tomorrow and delete this but i've got mad post-walls-release-party-and-signing-and-meeting-louis-tomlinson-depression and this is how i'm coping with that
> 
> please do not translate, repost, or recreate this work in any way. thank you!

In the height of his hipster-boho-grandma phase, Harry insisted on filling the house with soft, gauzy curtains, the kind that catch the light and brighten the whole room. They look nice, Louis must admit, but there’s something particularly special about the way they catch moonlight, the way the whole house glows, milky and quiet, as still as the middle of the night ought to be.

It’s too early for that, though, according to the grandfather clock from Harry’s antiques phase ticking steadily in the corner of the den. Upon first glance, everything seems normal, but Louis has known Harry for almost ten entire years now, and it doesn’t take him long to find the trail of evidence that Harry’s not having a good day.

There’s half a bag of Harry’s favorite sweets mix on the coffee table in the den, an almost-empty mug of tea perched on the corner of the grand piano, and a sock scrunched into a ball under the piano bench. Louis tries his hardest not to smile as he comes around the corner where, sure enough, there’s another balled up sock where the den opens into the hallway. When Harry gets frustrated, his feet get hot first; he’s always balling up his socks and whipping them at Louis when they start to fight about something silly, and it probably should be disgusting, but Louis has not a problem in the world with plucking them up off of the floor and putting them away or, depending what kind of mood he’s in, whipping them back.

Today he’s in the mood to follow the trail, apparently, and at the end of the hallway, he finds one of Harry’s headbands, lying lonely over the threshold to the kitchen. He peeks his head around the corner into the kitchen, finally spotting Harry, standing in the corner by the back door with his head pressed against the wall like he’s possessed, or something. His feet are bare, and he keeps shuffling them around on the cool tile floor, picking his head up every few seconds just to thump it gently back down against the wall.

“Hey,” Louis says, finally stepping into the kitchen after a moment.

Harry screams, because he’s incredibly easy to scare, especially when he’s lost in something inside his head like this. He whirls around, arms up like he’s ready to fight Louis off, but the moment he catches sight of the shape of the silhouette in the doorway, the tension drops out of his shoulders.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Harry says, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. He sounds exhausted, and he looks it, too; his hair’s a mess, like he’s been pulling at it, and his eyes look heavy and dull. Louis loves him so much even _he_ can’t believe it sometimes.

“Sorry,” Louis says, shuffling over to bury himself in Harry’s chest. He’s exhausted, too, if he’s being honest, and he doesn’t have the energy to pretend to be anything other than sweet right now. “Didn’t realize you’d be in here doing — whatever it was you were doing, standing in the corner Blair Witch style.”

“I’m so hot,” Harry moans, trying weakly to push Louis away. Louis doesn’t go very far. “When did you get home?”

“Just now,” Louis says, slipping his hands, cold from outside, up the back of Harry’s t-shirt. Harry’s clammy to the touch, and he jumps at the feeling of Louis’s little icicle fingers, but he relaxes into it quickly.

“What time is it?” Harry asks, finally hugging him back. Louis smiles, nuzzling a little closer.

“Just after 10,” Louis says. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry sighs, pressing his face into Louis’s neck. He’s almost feverish against Louis’s cold skin; he’s proper worked up about something, and Louis pulls back an inch to look up at him. “I’ve been trying to work all day, but I can’t do it. I can’t write songs,” he says, like it’s a discovery he’s just made, and not a gross lie. “I’m a flop,” he shrugs. “My career is over.”

Louis just smiles, pressing a kiss to the curve of his jaw. Even his jawline is hot and a little bit sweaty, and maybe Louis should be concerned that Harry gets himself this stressed out and anxious over trying to write a song, but he mostly just finds it hopelessly endearing.

“Keep your head up, love,” he says, pulling away and grabbing Harry’s hands. “Dance with me.”

“I don’t want to dance,” Harry pouts, but he lets Louis pull him into the center of the dark kitchen, anyway. 

“Just a little dance,” Louis says, tugging Harry’s hands until he’s flush against his front. “Sing for me what you have so far.”

Harry just stares at him, blinking once, and Louis laughs, shrugging one shoulder. 

“Personally, I like it. Some of your best work yet.”

“Shut up,” Harry whines, making to pull away. “I’m so hot, Louis don’t do this right now-”

“Dance with me, dork,” Louis says, forcing him back in. Harry doesn’t protest, so Louis puts his head down against Harry’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist and starting to sway gently in the silent kitchen.

The longer the silence stretches on, the less silent it becomes. The wind outside is whistling quietly, rustling the trees and making music in the windchimes Harry hung on the porch in the interim between his witch phase and his beach bum phase. It was raining earlier, and Louis imagines it’s raining now, the raindrops falling in sheets, shrouding them in their dark, quiet little bubble, all full of moonlight and the soft scuffle of Louis’s socks and Harry’s skin against the tile floor.

Harry surrenders to it after a little while, arms going loose around Louis’s shoulders as he lets Louis guide him in lazy motions around the room. Louis resists the urge to hum, because he doesn’t want to interfere with whatever’s going on inside Harry’s head, and after a few minutes, it pays off.

Harry gasps and tears himself out of Louis’s arms, taking off down the hallway and back to the den, feet slapping against the floor. Louis grins, closing his eyes, and sure enough, the sound of the piano comes floating down the hallway after just a few seconds. He follows the sound slowly, hesitant to approach too quickly and scare it off, and when he peeks around the corner back into the den, Harry stops playing and hunches over his notebook, scribbling wildly.

Louis lets him be, turning away with a smile to set off up the stairs. He has himself a hot shower to warm his cold bones, takes his time in the warmth and the steam, and then gets dressed in his softest clothes to creep back down the stairs to check Harry’s progress.

Harry’s got nearly an entire page in his notebook full, and he’s still going, playing a few experimental notes on the piano and then writing half a page so quickly Louis doubts he’ll even be able to read it back later. Louis invites himself to the piano, squeezing onto the bench beside Harry, and Harry ignores him for just a second longer before turning to plant a wet kiss to his cheek.

“You little muse, you,” Harry says, kissing his cheek again, and then once more. “I had _nothing_ , Louis, and then you held me for five minutes and gave me a whole song.”

“It was already in you, love,” Louis says, but he accepts the cuddle Harry gives him, anyway. “You’ve got it in your blood.”

“Maybe,” Harry says, and he’s not quite so hot to the touch anymore, which Louis notes with a smile, “but you bring it out of me.”

“Play it for me,” Louis says, lodging himself in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry shifts him around just a bit and then awkwardly settles his hands over the keys when Louis refuses to move enough for him to play properly, but even with one elbow crushed oddly between his side and Louis’s, he plays half of the most beautiful song Louis’s ever inspired, he’s sure.

Louis doesn’t say anything when Harry’s finished playing, just tucks himself a little more neatly under Harry’s arm and closes his eyes while Harry carries on writing. He could fall asleep like this, he thinks, even with Harry humming quietly under his breath and jostling him around every few minutes when he reaches for his notebook. He’s never more comfortable than he is by Harry’s side, entirely in his way but still earning himself an affectionate pet on the head every time Harry pulls back to think. 

They’ll be here for hours while Harry writes and rewrites and rewrites and rewrites, but Louis doesn’t mind a bit. Moments like these are rare and sweet as anything, moonlight still pouring in through the curtains while Louis dozes off, inspiring infinitely more songs in Harry’s mind than he’ll ever even know.

**Author's Note:**

> please do not translate, repost, or recreate this work in any way. thank you!


End file.
